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Published: December 9th 2014
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The next stop on my ‘Great Adventure’ is London, England.
Anxiety and anticipation pump through my veins coinciding with the litres of coffee I had inevitably consumed earlier this morning. I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that my body is now probably a higher percentage of caffeine than blood, or the excitement of the day ahead looming over me, but as the train slowly creeps into the station, I bounce out of my seat and my feet push me forwards towards the exit of the carriage.
As I hop off the train in Waterloo Station after what seems like weeks of watching every hedgerow, sheep, pylon and business commuter (complete with copy of The Guardian) pass by to the dulcet tones of “your conductor speaking”, I can’t help but feel a brief sense of relief, until of course, I am then subsequently plunged into the hustle and bustle of the country’s capital. With a population of 8,416,535 its bound to be an exhilarating experience.
The synchronised swinging of suitcases swoosh past me as I try and exit, as if the station was the epicentre of an earthquake of
commuters. When I eventually exit the maze of blurred faces, high street shops and fast food restaurants that make up Waterloo Station, I am immediately hit with an atmosphere that can only be described as magical; as if the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future have come to visit me all at once. The rushing of last minute shoppers, the certain chill in the air that bites at my skin, and the festive lights that line the streets; illuminating the moderately foggy sky above me.
My first stop is Westminster itself, the heart of the city, and as the cold weather ensues, Big Ben and The Houses of Parliament tower above the flocks of people, hidden by the sea of hats, scarves and christmas sweaters. I begin to walk down Horse Guards Parade, the guards in their long crimson coats contrast with the thick grey sky above them, and the horseback guards positioned at the entrance to the courtyard help to create a sense of patriotism.
As I make my way towards South Bank across Westminster bridge, I find it hard to believe that London has some of the warmest temperatures
in England as the blanket of icy chill from the thames creeps up, surrounding me. I now head towards Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus as noon crawls forward. The large screens of Piccadilly contrast with the more traditional buildings around them and the cluster of people beneath them creates a Times Square-esque image. The hushed sounds of songs from various shops all merge together to form a hectic orchestra of Christmas carols echoing across the streets. I now realise how Piccadilly Circus gets it’s name. Trafalgar Square is much more artistic with the various sculptures, the National Gallery and of course the infamous Lions. From the high steps of the National Gallery I can see Big Ben peering over the top of the greyish landscape and the streets below that are currently decorated with various festivities.
I catch the Northern Line all the way up to Camden Town as the market is my next stop. Even inside the tube carriage there is a certain atmosphere that is impossible to replicate anywhere else; the small chatter amongst passengers, the rumbling of the train and the flow of the carriages, like the waves of the ocean. I step
off the tube skittishly for fear of soon being trampled by the rushing of people amongst the fast pace of the marketplace. However when I reach the market, I am taken by surprise; it is more heavenly than hectic. The ambiance of it is really like no other; the smell of incense, the bright psychedelic tapestries that line the walls and the glistening of the jewellry stalls in the pale winter sun all create a sense of serenity; a feeling that is difficult to experience elsewhere in the city.
Oscar Wilde once said “Oh, I love London Society! It is entirely composed now of beautiful idiots and brilliant lunatics. Just what Society should be.” Well, I can safely say I experienced my fair share of brilliant lunatics. As I made my way through Kentish Town, amongst other various buskers, I heard a performer who goes by the name of DJ Grandpa, a supposed elderly man livening up the gloomy streets with his “sick beats”.
Much like the people of the city, time moves swiftly on. As dusk starts to descend upon London, I catch the tube back down to Westminster. As the day draws to a close, the most spectacular sight of all was yet to be witnessed; The London Eye illuminated against the dark backdrop of the metal landscape known as the London skyline. The dome-like carriages glitter and twinkle like constellations. It is this breathtaking sight, captured perfectly, that will be permanently etched into my mind. After taking one last sigh of tranquility, I reluctantly leave for the station.
Masses of people swarm to the underground including myself. As I pass through the ticket machines I notice how the business men and women run through the station as if they are the predator and the rush hour tubes are their prey; hunting them down and going in for the kill; stopping for no one.
I catch my final glimpse of this beautiful, vibrant, atmospheric place before I board my 6:30 train from Waterloo, both excited for the road, or should I say track, ahead, but also slightly disheartened to leave such a diverse city. As the lights twinkle over the city I can’t help but feel a warm, fuzzy kind of feeling in my chest as the excitement for Christmas creeps nearer. This city is my favorite by far.
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